


One Step at a Time

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7735063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have a routine - Molly and Sherlock. After his return from his four minutes exile (to which it took her a long time to forgive him when she found out about the drug use, involving a mandatory rehab or else she’d refuse access to the lab) and the end of the Fauxriarty debacle, they started one after another. Be it Saturday nights movies, Wednesday lunches, or frequent experiments at Baker Street, they found comfort in each other’s company. It was normal – their normal. But, what was special was not those Saturday nights movies, Wednesday lunches or the experiments – no, others would occasionally join them at one point or another. It was their Friday nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step at a Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justmindy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmindy/gifts).



They have a routine - Molly and Sherlock. After his return from his four minutes exile (to which it took her a long time to forgive him when she found out about the drug use, involving a mandatory rehab or else she’d refuse access to the lab) and the end of the Fauxriarty debacle, they started one after another. Be it Saturday nights movies, Wednesday lunches, or frequent experiments at Baker Street, they found comfort in each other’s company. It was normal – their normal. But, what was special was not those Saturday nights movies, Wednesday lunches or the experiments – no, others would occasionally join them at one point or another. It was their Friday nights.

Every Friday nights, they'd go on long walks. 

It started simple enough. One day, about seven months after they’ve all put it behind them, Sherlock commenting he needed to walk more - being cooped up was bad for his health and seeing how he was once again Britain’s favourite (and only) consulting detective, it was hard to do so.

"Let's go then,” she told him after she listened him bemoaned his reacquired celebrity status. “Right now.”

His eyes flickered to his watch immediately and noticed it was late. It was ten at night to be precise and they were nearly finished their experiment at Baker Street – another one of their usual routine though it didn’t occur exclusively on Friday nights alone.

He looked back up at her, confusion was clear in his eyes and though he didn’t voice it, it was clear in his eyes that he was asking her; ‘are you raving mad?’

Whether or not Molly understood the look he was giving her remained a mystery. She proceeded to pulling him off of his chair, having abandoned her the moment he excitedly proposed the spontaneous night walk.

“Come on now,” she said cheerily, pulling him by the wrist to which he allowed without protest. 

They did left the flat after Sherlock complained mildly as he put his Belstaff. Their walk started simple enough, on the sidewalk along the stretch of street in front of Baker Street. They didn’t even know who started it, but as they walk they began to talk. Him retelling a case and her talking about her work. Sometimes they discussed autopsies, but when they get near people, they would halt their conversation. Even Sherlock had begun to learn not everyone would be okay with certain topics he likes to discuss.

Just like that, they took a walk every Friday - without fail, unless Molly had to work late shift on a Friday, until two in the morning. Sometimes, it was until they were exhausted that even taking short breaks weren’t enough.

Of course, eventually the Paparazzi caught wind of Sherlock’s late night walks with Molly. To her relief, she had been labelled as an unknown brunette as the few pictures of her were either blurred on purpose or was too far to be recognizable unless someone knew her well.

Unfortunately, her relief didn’t last long. Her name, pictures as well as personal details quickly found its way into the papers and gossip rags. The turn of event caused her head to spin as a number of Paparazzi started to tail as well as camped around Barts to capture a picture or two of her.

Her sentiment, however, was not shared by Sherlock who appeared to be completely unaffected by how interested the media was with his life – or in this case, who he was sleeping with.

“We were just walking!” she said exasperatedly, louder than she had meant to as she paced in the morgue. 

Sherlock had dropped by for a case with Lestrade and had stayed behind when she asked him to. She had been avoiding him to avoid more gossip. Surprisingly, Sherlock had respected her decision to distance herself from him without protest. Unfortunately, the news of which she had hoped to die after a few days had got out of hand.

Extremely out of hand that her mother had called her to ask if she was really dating Sherlock Holmes. She spent an hour (her lunch hour), explaining to her mother that she was most certainly not seeing Sherlock romantically and he was just her friend. Meena was no better when she consistently forwarded links about the two of them and going on and on about shipping.

“Christ!” Molly had yelled over the phone to her second cousin, twice removed who had somehow gotten her number, “we are not together!”

Her outburst was all her very giddy cousin needed and the slew of curses Molly had shouted to herself, alone in the morgue, was not repeatable. She shouldn’t have lost her cool, but the phone call followed by snide remarks about how someone like Sherlock would never be with someone like her had hit her hard. She knew, of course she knew that he would never look at her that way and she was alright. It took her years to be okay and to finally get to that place where she was only to hear that, well, she wasn’t good enough for him to begin with was beyond insulting. 

She even debated to change her number only to realize that it was something she needed to discuss with Sherlock. If anyone that could put the gossip to bed (no pun intended) it would be him. 

Though, she should have probably seen it coming. How normal conventions was not something Sherlock was well acquainted with or care to do so.

“I need you to do me a favour,” she said, trying to get it over with as soon as she could. Considering just how many people could walk through the door, a quick discussion was vital. And she really didn’t want to be alone with Sherlock for far too long, risking further gossip if anyone were to see them together.

“Alright,” Sherlock replied, encouraging Molly to speak her mind with a simply nod.

Molly took a deep breath, eyes flickering to the door of the morgue for a moment before finally speaking, “I need you to tell the media or make a statement on your website, or even John’s that we are not together.” 

“Why?” he asked in turn.

It took all of Molly, it really did, not to vent her frustration onto Sherlock. The sheer disbelief was apparent on her face. How can it not? The great consulting detective was asking her as to why he needed to clarify their relationship was getting on her last nerve.

“Because we need to tell people we are not together,” she said through gritted teeth.

The answer from him, however, was prompt, “but we are.”

Pressing her eyes closed, Molly willed away the urge to slap Sherlock across his face. The few times she had done it in the past was justified, though somehow, she didn’t think him acting purposely stupid would be.

“Sherlock, we're not together – together,” she said as patiently as she could, resisting the urge to wrap her small hands around his throat and choke him until he understood the severity of what was happening. It was affecting her life and it wasn’t as if she had any control over it.

The consulting detective tilted his head to the side, "there's different types of togetherness?"

Without meaning to, Molly lost her temper. Though, perhaps she should have been awarded with a medal by the British Royal Family for her patience in dealing with Sherlock for all the years she had known him. From his dismissive attitude to pretty much being at his beck and call that nearly risked her losing her career if not for Mycroft Holmes, she more than earned at least a Sainthood.

“They meant we're shagging!” she sniped at him.

That earned her an arched eyebrow and Sherlock seemingly lost in his thoughts. She sighed, resigned to her fate that she would have to deal with whatever it was on her own. For a second, she entertained the idea of wearing a cardboard over herself to and from work that said; ‘not Sherlock Holmes’ girlfriend’, though it seemed ridiculous even in her head.

She went about her work, leaving Sherlock lost in his thoughts. After about twenty minutes, she was startled when she heard him speak, fortunately, she wasn’t carrying any heavy duty tools.

"You make that sound like it's a bad thing.”

Really, she wanted to spit the words on him, but she held herself. Putting away her files, she carefully stood to stand toe to toe to him again since he had made his way next to her.

With the patience of a Saint (really), she said, "Sherlock, we're friends and I like that we are. But Friends don't shag each other."

"They don't?" he asked.

Molly was taken aback with his question. Quickly her brain scrambled for a respond and the only one she could came up with was, "did you ever want to shag John?"

"No," he replied, looking alarmed with the implication of her question. 

Briefly, just briefly, Molly wondered if she had crossed the line. But, she decided she didn’t have the luxury to be swayed just because Sherlock was uncomfortable. Especially when his dismissive attitude was causing her discomfort. "So, why are you okay with people thinking we're doing the dirty?" she pressed.

"I’ve never even addressed it when the media thought John and I are together," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Molly wanted to strangle him. She wondered how John manage not to strangle Sherlock when that had happened to him. It might be alright for Sherlock when people decided to write fictitious things about him, but she was never alright with it or ever will. It was bad enough that she hadn’t been on a single date for nearly a year thanks to Sherlock, now that people are thinking she happened to be his current girlfriend, no one would even dare to ask her out. 

Yet, the only few words that made out of her mouth were, "God! You're impossible!"

"What did I do wrong?" he asked as Molly stormed pass him, leaving he morgue.

It took him a moment before he sprinted into action, pushing his way through the door, only to realize she had disappeared, cursing her quickness under his breath. When he turned back unsure of which direction he should go, he clocked Mary shaking her head (clearly having heard the entire conversation) by the door as it swung lightly, losing the inertia brought upon it when he pushed it open harshly.

There must have been something written all over his face because when he met Mary’s gaze, all she said was; “can't help you there pal, you figure it out,” before walking away, leaving him further confused as to what error he had made to cause two women (one of which a trained assassin, albeit formerly) giving him the cold shoulder.

By the time he found John, Mary had filled him in on the fiasco with Molly that had led the good doctor opting keep his mouth shut. Well, almost since John was still John and he couldn’t help but impart some kind of wisdom he thought was important.

“Alright, mate,” John said slowly and carefully. “Go through the conversation you had with Molly again in your head word by word.”

“What does that even means?” Sherlock frustratingly asked, but John had made a zipping motion over his mouth including throwing away the key. Ridiculous, prompting Sherlock to roll his eyes.

Even Graham who was present – they were buying coffee just outside the hospital was tight-lipped even when he was clearly gawking in surprised.

His saving grace came from Anderson of all people, much to John’s charging when the man opened his mouth.

"You literally just told her you'd want to shag her, not in so many words.” There was giddiness in Anderson’s tone, as if he had won the lottery, but Sherlock dismissed it as Anderson being Anderson. Him and his silly theories might have floated to the front part of his brain, unless as it may be.

Yet, he felt compelled to asking considering how out of depth he was, "was that not good?"

Anderson shook his head, flicking his tongue, making a tsking sound, "No. Not unless you do want to...you know..."  
Surprisingly, he found the answer to the indirect question (which he didn't share with Anderson) was yes. He'd very much like to fuck Molly Hooper into the mattress, but more than that. He likes the long walks, the talking, the experiments, the dinners they had and so many little moments they share that everyone were not even aware of.

“Thank you, gentleman,” he said, not showing any indication of what was going through his mind as he bid his company goodbye, “I suppose occasional conversation with you aren’t all wasteful.”

His statement earned him an ‘oi!’ from John, an annoyed grunt from Lestrade and leaving Anderson unsure whether he should be offended or not.

It took him five days to finally gather up the courage to text Molly to come to Baker Street after her shift. She refused at first, but he said ‘please’, she relented. A smile accompanied him the entire day as he awaited Molly’s arrival, pacing about and occasionally playing a tune on his violin.

"It had come to my attention that what I said a few days ago was a bit not good," he said to her as she walked in at around half past eight, making no move to remove her jacket or scarf.

At the back of his mind, he knew that it was not a good sign, she was still angry at him. Considering how she missed their Friday walks even when she wasn’t on duty, he knew it was safe to say he was not forgiven – not by a long shot.

"Well, took you long enough," she replied with a sigh, shifting her weight on the sole of her shoes. "It's not okay, but...I've known you long enough to know you'd never understand the weight of your words."

He hesitated a moment. "I'm not sorry," he said, clearly.

"Excuse me?" she arched an eyebrow out of confusion. Oh, why could she have expected for the man - she should have known better.

He took a purpose-filled steps towards her, stopping only when he was standing toe to toe from her. "I'm not sorry," he repeated, "not even a little bit because even unknowingly, I wanted to say it."

"You meant to say you want to shag me?" she asked, even more confused. Sherlock's roundabout way was confusing her. She wasn't sure what he wanted from her.

"Yes," he confirmed, not a hint of hesitation.

"I'm not going to sleep with you for one of your stupid experiment or fulfilled your curiousity!" she shouted, immediately regretting it because she was sure people at least three blocks away could hear her.

Sherlock never looked more frustrated in his life, however, he understood that the fault laid with him in the first place. He had not given Molly any indication that he ever wanted to pursue her romantically. At least not seriously doing so. It was one thing to flirt to get his way with her knowing it, another to actually say it.

"Not for an experiment," he shook his head wildly.

"Curiousity then, not doing it for that either," she said, fuming.

"Not for that either," he grunted out of annoyance.

"Then what?" Molly asked, she was done with the game. A sixteen hour shift was getting to her.

Sherlock leaned until his face was an inch away from hers. His actions earned him a small squeak from Molly who was surprised. It wasn't that she was not used to him being at close proximity. But, there was something about how he was looking at her that baffled her. It almost looked like he was begging her to see him. To really see him, a hope that he was not invisible to her. It was strange, she couldn't understand why he was wearing that look, at least for her.

"I like you, Molly Hooper," he mumbled his clumsy confession.

She blinked up at him rapidly. "Uhh...I like you too, Sherlock."

He straightened himself back up, taking a step back and Molly couldn’t help but felt sorry at the loss of proximity where she could just about lean and press her lips onto Sherlock’s.

"Not like how I like John or how I like Mary. Hell, not even how I like Geoffrey," he said, shaking his head.

"Greg," she corrected him absentmindedly.

It caused him to chuckle. Part of the reason why he was still wrongly addressing Lestrade was the amusement of people correcting him without thinking, as if it was already written into their DNA. Even his brother had done so, repeatedly. The again, Mycroft had a reason as to why he wanted Sherlock to remember Lestrade’s name, reasons of which Mycroft was sure Sherlock was unware of, but he did anyway.

"I like you, Molly Hooper," he repeated, brushing the thought of his brother in a relationship with his friend out of his mind, his focus should be on her and her alone. "I like the long walks we take, the experiments we conduct together and how I am with you."

Molly shrugged, uncertain as to what she can say to Sherlock and settled with, "well, that's good for you."

"And I want to keep doing it with you. Preferably exclusively, just the two of us," he said, a smile dangling from his perfect cupid’s bow lips, making it hard for Molly to think.

"It's almost always just the two of us," she managed to point out.

He wasn’t deterred, "with a label, because even if it doesn't matter to me, it matters to you."

She cocked an eyebrow, "what do you mean?"

He ploughed through, feeling desperate that he needed to get the point across or the moment would be lost – there were already missed moments and they were all entirely his doing, "preferably involving kisses, shagging and all that came with that said label."

Molly could feel her face burning. It was one thing for another guy to say the words Sherlock had uttered and another for Sherlock to be saying it himself. For one, she never thought he would be interested in her. She might be hopelessly in love with him, but she wasn’t delusional and was unwilling to delude herself into thinking he returned her feelings. So, it was strange. 

"Ummm… Sherlock, only people in a romantic relationship does that," she mumbled, distancing herself from the idea of them being an actual relationship. Even if she dared to hope, she would rather not do so openly to have it be crushed.

"I know," he confirmed, leaning back to her. "May I kiss you, Molly Hooper?"

The only thing that crossed Molly's mind was that either something had possessed Sherlock or she was dropped into some weird alternate universe where Sherlock Holmes wanted to kiss her. She froze, looking up at him, trying to see if he was ill. Perhaps a brain leech that latched on his sanity because Sherlock doesn't do relationship and ask to kiss her – not ever.

"Not a parallel universe, hasn't been infected by an alien bug," he deduced her worries easily and watched her cheeks reddened again.

"Why?" she croaked a question at last.

A bit, just a bit – she began to dare to hope.

"Because I'd very much like to," he replied with a grin. Molly could feel her legs were turning into jelly and her will power making a run away from her.

It certainly was not fair and she was praying hard it was not a prank or even a game on his part. He can’t possibly be that cruel, even with the veiled flirtations before, she would like to believe he couldn’t possibly be cruel enough to lead her on after they came close friends. No, she knew him at least that well. He was many things but playing with her heart and knowingly would damage their friendship, she didn’t think he would do it even for an experiment. He would most certainly drugged her, causing her to lose an entire Wednesday, but never risking a heartbreak on her part.

He could see the whys in her eyes still, "I don't want to say it yet."

"Say what?" she dared to ask.

"The other L word," he replied cheekily.

An L word came to mind, but she wasn’t sure (or dared to hope more than she already was) it was the same one that was on his mind.

"Why not?" she braved herself to ask.

He was smiling, a soft smile. Not one of his fake ones that she had grown accustomed to over the years. This one was genuine because she had seen it before when he was with his Goddaughter. His rare smiles that wasn’t wicked or threatening, a real one.

"Because I want to hear you say it first," he said, leaning even closer, just a breath away.

Her eyes widened in surprise. It was the same word she was thinking about. Yet, instead of jumping with joy, she yelled; "you asshole!"

"Yes, but your asshole, if you'll have me," Sherlock said with a chuckle.

"You're so confident I'd have you," she fired back with similar tone of amusement as his.

Finding he quite like being playfully flirtatious and meaning every word, Sherlock refused to back down. "Well, I'm an observant man."

"Jerk," Molly retaliate, sticking her tongue.

"Your jerk," he teased again.

She was so close, he could almost kiss her.

"I'm not going to say it first," she said, putting her foot down even if she looked like a petulant child. There was no way she was going to let Sherlock have this win.

"Would you at least let me kiss you?" he asked, a small pout was on his lips.

Her eyes glimmered with humour. "Not a chance, Mr Holmes."

She turned to walk away, but he gently coaxed her back to turn facing him, wrapping his arm around her. Her breath hitched as she watched him looking at her. She knew what he meant, but she still want to hear it. By Gods, she waited this long for Sherlock to come around and even when her crush had faded, her love for him seemed to have metastasized over the years. At the very least, she needed to have him say it first.

"I love you, Molly Hooper," he said, giving in because when it came to Molly, giving in was the best thing, especially when a smile touched her lips.

"You can kiss me now, Mr Holmes," she replied with humour back in her tone.

He chuckled, finally leaning to kiss her thoroughly like he had meant to since he called her over. No, perhaps even longer because when he thought about it, he didn’t remember the time when he never want Molly. He chose her from the very first day, singling her out of all her colleague. Sure, she was capable, but now he felt like it was always more than that. It was her smile, he remembered that smile she gave him the day they met. That was it, the moment. 

"I love you too, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered he reply with heaving breath as they pulled away.

"I know, but it's still nice to hear," he replied.

Molly's eyes narrowed in annoyance, prompting Sherlock to laugh. It was just her luck to fall in love with Sherlock Holmes. In all honesty, she would have stayed angry at him if he hadn't leaned in to steal another kiss from her, and another one, and another one…


End file.
